Waltz of Crimson Drops
by Stjerne Siren
Summary: Norway has Left with Sweden and Denmark breaks, becoming violent and blood-thirsty. Years he has been suffering, and now, finally, Norway has returned, but Denmark has changed, and not for the better. Can Norway right his wrongs and clear away the awful misunderstandings? Repeated Character death/foul language/MA to be safe. After the Kalmar union fell/non-historical. For Luke.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters in the show. This is merely a work of fiction using the characters for the purpose of this plot-line.******

Waltz of Crimson Drops

_For Luke, the Las Vegas Norge._

_**Ch. 1~I loved you so…**_

He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, frozen in place by a fear so great it was eating him away even now. No, that couldn't be Norway's back turned to him as he walked away toward Sweden's outstretched hand. No, no, NO! It wasn't possible! There was no way that this was actually happening! It had to be another of his awful nightmares.  
If it was a nightmare then why did it hurt so much…? He knew that sometimes pain in false visions seemed real, but it had never been _this_ real. This was happening, and the love of his life was slipping away.  
Tears stung his eyes and left hot trails of unbridled pain across his cheeks before falling to the cold ground. "Norge!" he called out, his voice shaky and broken as a hand was raised, as if trying to clasp at the other, but failing.  
The cold eyed beauty turned to look at him, not a trace of emotion showing, even though Denmark was falling apart in front of him. "Don't go…" it was a plea, a broken, almost whispered plea, an act of a desperate fool, hopelessly in love.  
No response was given, the cold Norwegian didn't even blink as he turned and kept walking, closing his ears to the now kneeling mans broken cries. He had made his choice and there was no going back now.  
Denmark couldn't stop crying. Pain seared through him like a thousand arrow-wounds as the sound of a retreating carriage faded into the distance. Hadn't he been enough for the other? Hadn't he loved him, cared for him, and gave him the greatest pleasure known to man?  
Was he really such a despicable man…? He stared down at his shaking hands through eyes blurred by warm, salty water that was beginning to burn. These hands, so scarred and calloused from years of fighting, were stained with the blood of foes he'd fought to protect his family…and his most precious someone.  
He'd only ever done what he thought was right, what with Far Scandinavia leaving him in charge of the younger ones without even giving him a proper crash 'course on how to go about it. The Dane didn't actually have any experience in how to behave as more than a kid really.  
It had all been too much but he'd tried, he really had, and in the process he'd fallen in love with Norway, the stoic, cold-hearted angel who loved his magical friends almost more than his little brother.  
It was killing him inside that all his efforts had only chased away the people he cared for most. First Sweden, whom despite all their tussles, he respected beyond all else; the tall, intimidating man had taken Finland with him, the cheery boy who was always so innocent. And now, Norway had left him, choosing Sweden's stoic disinterest over his ever-faithful love and care.  
He hissed, gripping the dirt as the pain turned into something much sourer. Denmark hadn't been this angry in such a long time, not since someone had hurt Norway. He stood; hand balled into trembling fists as he turned to the stone wall and slammed a fist into it.  
The pain dulled the ache in his heart, so he did it again, but this time with the other hand. He continued this way for a good several minutes until his hands were a mess of blood and tattered skin.  
He leaned against the blood-stained stones and slipped into a sitting position between two neatly trimmed bushed, and laughed. It was a harsh, bitter sound that caused any nearby creatures to flee. He was alone now.  
Sure Iceland was up sleeping in his room right now, but he didn't count because he was a child, someone who needed protecting. Who knew how long he'd stick around now that his 'big brother' had left.  
No one wanted the 'stupid, annoying, bastard Dane.' He didn't blame them, he despised himself to. He talked big but when it came down to it he was a lonely idiot with nothing but a large empty house and a boss who treated him like a pet.  
He walked inside dejectedly and stared blankly around the entrance hall. His eyes caught the glint of a sword in a case full of old weapons, and suddenly something snapped. He broke the glass with his fist, ignoring the slashes on his face and the pieces buried in his already abused hand.  
He grabbed the weapon and began destroying everything in sight, not even the curtains came out unscathed. When he was done with the hall he burst into the kitchen, startling the maids, and repeated the process in there.  
Between broken cries of pure frustration, he could feel the steady flow of tears, but still he continued on, trying to ignore the whispering voice in the back of his mind telling him that this was all pointless, because Norway hated him, and Norway was never coming back.  
Another scream. He couldn't accept it! No, he _wouldn't_ accept it, there was no way Norway would choose Sweden over him! Just because the other was bigger, stronger, smarter, handsomer, cooler, and braver than him meant nothing!  
The sword buried itself into the large oaken table, and after several angry attempts at dislodging it he gave up and fell to the floor sobbing once again. What was the point of all this? It was pretty obvious why both Norway and Finland chose Sweden over him.  
He'd just named all the reasons, and still he'd been blinded by this tiny sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, Norway would actually come back, and more so, that perhaps he _wanted_ to. But no, Norway was gone, he didn't want him, and he didn't want himself either.  
"I loved you…" he hiccupped. "So…so very much…" he buried his in his lap as his shoulders shook with unrestrained tears. It was true, he had loved Norway, and even after all this, he still did.  
That was the thing about love. Love was a horrible trap, easy to be ensnared, not so easy to escape. The worst of it was then Denmark wasn't sure he wanted to. Loving Norway had really been the most magical thing, even if the other was rather abusive…and cold…and unfeeling.  
He whimpered pitifully at that thought. Norway must have been lying all that time when he said he loved the Dane, just so he could use him until he could run away with Sweden, his true love. That hurt, but it must be true.  
"Who could love me…" he chuckled sadly. "Such an annoying and cheerful idiot who doesn't know the first thing about ruling is…just so lame." He leaned back, all his tears gone, leaving him numb and emotionally exhausted.

Now he was feeling sorry for himself. He sighed and stood. Really there was no point to all this pity, he was alone and that was that, nothing he could do to change the situation, so he might as well accept it like he always had, with a stupid smile on his face.  
The trick was that the only person who'd really seen him smile was Norway, so to everyone else it seemed real, even if it didn't quite reach his eyes. He strode out of the kitchen and into the living room whistling as he ignored his still bleeding hands, which really should have been bandaged.  
A maid ran in to check on him, and when she saw his hands, quickly fetched some bandages and gently began to wrap his hands. He smiled at her and thanked her as she scuttled back out and then sighed, turning to stare at the table.  
He was in deep thought still as the sun slowly finished its accent into the sky, only snapping out of it when there was the soft creaking of a door opening and he looked up to spot Iceland, and he gave him a big grin.  
"Where's Norway...?" he wondered absently before glaring at the Dane. "Not that I really care!" He huffed and Denmark just smiled. "He left…" No point in lying since Iceland would found out at some point anyway, and then he'd just hate the Dane for not telling him.  
"Where…?" Iceland seemed to deflate and Denmark had to admit he felt bad for the poor boy. "He's staying with Sverige now…" he tried to keep the vicious tone out of his voice, but probably failed quite badly if he was honest.  
"Oh…" Quiet and seemingly emotionless, but also sadly accepting. That was an 'oh'  
Denmark had never wanted to hear from any of the others, and here he was, hearing it from the youngest of them all. "There's nothing we can do…" he said more to confirm it to himself than the silent boy before him.  
He stood. "We should go eat breakfast…" he was stopped when Iceland called his name softly. "Yeah?" he wondered, turning to face him from where he stood. "What happened to your hands…?" Ah, of 'course he'd noticed.  
The Dane sighed, and then grinned. "Oh I cut them while trying to do some whittling late last night! Now let's go eat!" It was an obvious lie and he could tell Iceland didn't believe it for a second, but he didn't push the subject, and with a shrug he followed him into the private dining hall.  
It was smaller than the main dining hall which was used only for large parties and other special occasions. Only the Nordics had used this one, it was cozier and easier to talk to each other without all the echoing.  
But with only two people it seemed big and empty, despite all the clutter. They ate in silence and servants fussed over them. Without Norway it didn't really feel like there was much reason for talking.  
Denmark hated silence, but he was in so much pain over Norway leaving he couldn't bring himself to say anything. He felt like crying again, but refused to show such weakness in front of Iceland. The poor boy needed someone he could rely on to be strong right now, and that was him.  
He supposed he could always see if he could convince Greenland to leave his 'hermit hut' on his island and join them in the city, just to keep his brother company, but Greenland was a wild man at heart, and refused to take any part in 'civilized society.'  
Excusing himself he headed towards his room, hands itching to 'cause some form of destruction. That was how he dealt with the gaping holes of sorrow in his heart; he destroyed things, killed people. The adrenaline of pain and 'causing pain was exhilarating to him and he couldn't get enough of it. This was nothing he was proud of, and it was something he'd tried to change, but unlike what people believed, Denmark was awful with his emotions, and had the lowest self-esteem of all the Nordics combined.  
Once behind the safety of his large wooden doors, now locked, he let himself come undone. He grabbed a knife from his bedside table and slashed at one of his already well-scarred wrists.  
The cold metal burned as it slid across his skin, but it made the pain feel dull and distant, so he kept going, ignoring the pain in favor of the emptying feeling. There were now several ugly wounds littering the lower half of both arms.  
He just sat there on the floor, soft light flitting across his pale and hopeless face as blood seeped onto the floor. Too much was being lost, but what did it matter, he couldn't really die. A nation couldn't permanently die until every last one of their people was gone.  
As long as the Danish breed of humanity lived, so did he, even if he died now and then. He always came back gasping, as if he'd been drowning, and it hurt a lot usually, but this time it didn't.  
It was comforting almost as he felt himself slowly slipping away into the darkness. He thought he heard a desperate banging on the door and Iceland calling his name as he slouched against the huge glass window that went from the floor to the ceiling and led to his balcony, but disregarded it as near-death delusions.  
No one wanted him, so why would someone be calling for him? It didn't make any sense, and would almost seem laughable, if it weren't for the fact that Norway didn't want him either. Maybe, if that cold beauty had wanted him he would have been ok, but those were only the fantasies of a fool, and a dead fool at that.  
He did laugh then as his vision blacked out just as a panicked Iceland burst into the room. He didn't hear or see anything else after that for a very long time, his broken heart having stopped in a momentary escape from all his suffering.

Denmark was dead…

**AN: Oh hey look, I actually did kill off Denmark….sorry Luke! Don't say I didn't warn you though…but hey, he comes back! I mean, you can't really permanently kill a country…at least not to my knowledge.  
Anyway, I am not the least bit sorry for all the depressing angst. Enjoy!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own hetalia or its characters, I am simply using them for this fan-made piece to create a plot-line.**

**A/N: I forgot to mention that this story is after the Kalmar union is broken and is an alternate take on what might have happened. There won't be much history, if any, and I won't be googling names so…royals will be referred to as 'king of Denmark' and such. I may have unimportant OC names, but we'll see. Sorry for the confusion!**

**Waltz of Crimson Drops**

_For Luke, the Vegas Norge_

_**Ch. 2~Lust for Death**_

Blue eyes stared ahead toward the horizon with a mad light as boots crunched across blood-stained hallways and mangled bodies. A mad grin that never left his face exposed reddened teeth.  
He was covered from head to toe in the crimson fluid, and he didn't seem to care as the ominous sound of metal on stone reverberated down his home as his axe trailed behind him. The poor woman whom had attracted his attention shook in fear.  
"Please…" she begged, knowing that Iceland was no longer around to help, his leaving having left this demon in his wake. Never had she seen such madness coming from one human. "Please spare me…I…I have a husband…and a child! Spare me! I beg you!"  
He threw his head back in a mad cackle before he faced her again, with the most bloodthirsty look that could scare even demons, she was sure. "Go ahead…beg!" he purred. "It won't do you any good, because you have to die you see?" he held up a hand as if explaining the concept to a child.  
"I need to know what its like…to be dead…no one else has come back yet to tell me so…" he raised the axe and she tried to scrabble away, but was unable to from where she was pinned in the corner. "You have to die and tell me what its like!"  
Her lips were left in a scream that would never touch the air and her eyes wide with terror as if still seeing the axe flashing toward her neck. The body crumbled to the ground now that the head was no longer there to keep it up.  
He laughed at the poor woman who had done nothing but get in the way of his axe. Still he felt no remorse, nor did he feel regret for the madness spreading across his bones. They had done this…all the Nordics; they'd done this to him. If they'd just stayed by his side like they were supposed to this would have been avoided!  
He growled, slowly losing his patience as he continued to remain alone. Deciding he'd had enough he hefted up his axe and began to violently hack at the headless body, laughing wildly as blood and gore splattered across his already stained clothes and face, some even sticking in his hair.  
This was his life now. All alone he killed and hacked to bits anyone who dared to set foot anywhere near him. Once the body was completely unrecognizable as human he turned and stalked further down the hall, as if hunting for a prey that had already been well-exterminated from the castle.  
There was blood everywhere, even in the courtyard, and damaged bodies coated the ground like a new floor, and still he remained. His home now looked more like a battle ground than the place where a nation resided.  
Yet the slaughter was not but a callous expression of his broken heart and despaired hope of ever being happy again. He wanted to die so badly it was eating him up, but he always came back, and after ten attempts he had decided that killing others was much better.  
If he couldn't escape his pain, why not remove all the people who caused this pain? It was so easy to just get rid of everyone around him, his insanity making him grow numb to the deepening despair at the loss of so many of his citizens. The guilt was there, but he was to far gone to feel it in any way beneficial to his nation.  
"Kill them, kill them all, and then tear apart the bodies…make them feel it all the way in hell." He laughed, amused by his own morbid tone, and the way the blood surrounded him like a red, velvet cloak. "Take them down. Kill. Destroy. Conquer. Revenge."  
His deranged mind liked that one. Ah yes revenge was a sweet thing, one he was going to enjoy all to well. He could almost taste their blood on his tongue, but for the knowledge that it was in fact the blood of all those he'd killed today.  
A tongue darted out to swipe away the ruby beads gathering on his lips and an inhuman purr slid from his throat and into the air. All around was death, what he lusted for most, and in this place of death, he was King, and no one was going to leave him, or disobey.  
But the glory was beginning to grow sour as here and there bits of Norway came out to haunt him. Here was a bit of blond hair, as pale as the sand under the waning moon. There, ocean deep blue eyes, devoid of all emotion, and wide open to his own.  
A golden cross glinted on the fleshy remains of what had once been a living human. He growled, trying to destroy all that reminded him of this man, trying to drown the despair in his heart that threatened to drive him further into the depths of insanity.  
But that blue cloth was so perfect, yet unsoiled by all the blood, that he shattered once again, something that should have never been possible. He fell to his knees, gripping the cloth tightly in his hands as his eyes rained and his voice became thunder, roaring all his pain to the sky.  
When guards finally arrived to contain 'the monster in the castle' they found not a monster, but a creature so broken it couldn't remember being human, a human who had become an animal.

This was the proud nation who had devotedly faced armies for the ones he loved, and cried for each life lost under his care. The man who always smiled, no matter the pain inside, just so others could feel safe to rest their burdens on his shoulders.  
Now there kneeled Denmark, hot tears that streamed continuously from his face framing his pitiful bloodied form as his head tilted to the sky, mouth open to allow the strangled cries slip out. He had truly snapped, and so they approached with caution, trying to coax him over, but he hissed at them and pulled away, gripping his axe tightly.  
Yet the guards were sneaky. While they demanded all his vicious, animalistic attention, another snuck up from behind, knocking him out with a good blow to the head and he crumpled to the ground, his blood beginning to slowly mix with the rest from a cut on his forehead.  
When he returned to consciousness he was locked in a dark cell and the only light was a small slit cut into the stone walls around him. He crawled towards the bars and reached out, feeling the urge to end a life.  
He was soaked in blood, both his own and that of others, and from the smell he'd been there several days. He growled, clawing at the metal angrily, tearing his hands and spilling crimson trails along the black.  
He needed to get out so he could kill that man! That stupid man who'd taken his heart and then dashed it on the ground. He needed to end him so bad that the need was 'causing him to turn viciously upon not only his cell, but himself. Bleeding digits grabbed at his hair and sharp nails pressed bloody trails into his face. A guard came in and panicked, trying his best to stop him, but once he came close, his life was snuffed out.  
There was no time to panic, no time to even take one more breath as powerful hands snapped his neck and then fumbled for the key. The creature needed out, wanted freedom to kill more than anything.  
_Norway must die._ That was his only wish, his only thought, and if he'd thought about it reasonably, he might not have reacted so, but all reason was gone. Nonetheless there were no keys on the soldier and he hissed. Nothing to do then but wait…

_**In Sweden**_

Norway was staring out the window with the most passive face he could ever pull off. Inside, however, he wasn't so calm. He had cried the first day away from Denmark, and every day since.  
The weather outside was stormy and sullen, reflecting the feelings swirling in dark shapes within. A bad day for a bad mood, and possibly even bad news. There was nothing more that the nation wanted to do but curl back up in his bed and dream of the time he was with Denmark.  
As for Iceland, well, he mostly kept to himself, or enjoyed messing about with paper and a charcoal pencil, drawing whatever he pleased. Then there was Finland and Sweden, and it was of no surprise at all what those two did behind closed doors.  
It was of no great secret either about how they felt either. Norway had walked in on them more than once, and he was getting tired of it. So he and Iceland usually hung out in the small study, staring out the window, or playing a game, or just doing their own thing.  
Sweden and Finland were hardly ever in the study, so any sickly-sweet displays of affection, or worse, were avoided. Today, however, it seemed that was to be an exception, and Norway's fear of bad news coming on such a day to be confirmed.  
The normally stoic leader of all three countries, now perched alertly 'round the room, looked distressed, well, as distressed as his stoic face would allow. He held in his hand a very urgent looking letter, judging by the way the lettering was hurried and badly done and splotched covered the envelope that crinkled around its contents.  
"'s 'bout Den…" he mumbled in his complicated accent, and though it was hard to translate, at the mention of his lover, Norway visibly blanched. He had been so worried about his lover all this time, and now he feared that his leaving had indeed done much worse to this precious man than he'd intended.  
Finland gently took the letter, hands shaking, and began to read, his easily understandable accent spreading horror through the room.

_Dear Sweden, and all countries pertaining to him._

I write to tell you of horrible news considering the personage of Denmark, our countries personification.  
To anyone who would dare come near him after the breaking of the Kalmar union, it was quite obvious he was upset about the whole thing, but when not only Norway left, but Iceland as well, he changed.  
He became irritable and antagonizing. Any wrong move, the slightest mistake, and he would condemn the hapless fellow with harsh words, so cruel, that I scarce withheld from fainting that such words could come from one so charitable and light-hearted.  
His moods grew worse, so I thought perhaps some time alone to mull through whatever bothered him would be good. I sent him away to a country castle he has known as home before. I believe one of his early rulers lived there.  
I deeply regret my decision as I now see that thousands of lives might have been spared if I simply had been wiser. But I am only human, and thus I lack the understanding of a nation that other nations hold.  
He has slaughtered all the staff, guards, royals, and nearby villagers of this castle, and enjoyed every moment. We were unable to tell whether a body was the remains of a man, woman, child, or all three piled together and spread about, such was his thoroughness.  
In all my years, which though not long, are still many, I have never seen such a massacre. It wasn't like a war, or even a slaughter, it was as if the very devil had visited. Needless to say we were forced to take action.  
Denmark currently is locked away in the most inescapable cell we could find, without torturing him more, or putting him into a deeper misery.  
I know nothing of what ails him, or what caused this horrific deed, only that a mere human cannot save him from his madness, which is why I turn to you, nations who know him best and hold him dearest.  
I pray you come quickly and that you will save this hapless country from himself.

Signed,  
Crown Prince of Denmark

There was silence across the room, and it was Norway who spoke first, braving the quiet of the room, and the guilt in his chest. Somehow, this was his entire fault.  
"I will go…" he said calmly, glaring icily around the room as if to dare the others to defy him. Finland moved as to speak, and it was obvious the other two weren't far behind, but Norway was determined, and he raised a hand, silencing them.  
"I was the closest to him. I know him better than any of the rest of you, though I don't doubt your caring of him; simply that he cared for me most. It is a fact, one we cannot change or argue with, and therefore I will be the one to go."  
Grumbles were heard around the room, but in the end it was decided Norway would go, and that was the end of it. Norway found himself thinking more and more of his Danish lover as he packed, fearing what he'd find when he arrived at the prison.  
Closing the single trunk he moved over to stare at the cross-clip in his hair. It had been a gift from Denmark after they had converted, a sign of his undying love. He touched it gently, praying that the 'forever' promise placed upon the object still held true.  
Then with a speed born of fear, worry, and desperation, he was in a carriage and away, the storm doing little to prevent him from going. He had been apart from Denmark to long already, much to long, and it was time to return to his side.

He only hoped Denmark still knew him when he arrived…

**A/N: Ok so probably not as good as the first, and a lot worse in terms of gore and such, but it was a necessary evil. Other than some craziness at the beginning of the next chapter, all the violent angst is over, but the angst is still there. Anyway, I don't like gore much either…Oh well, it was for the stories sake!**

Hope you enjoy! Oh and please review! 


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or the characters, I am simply using them to create this plotline.**

Update: So um, some kinda major errors in this! At one point Lukas was speaking Danish when it was supposed to be Norwegian and I didn't give the translation. So this has been edited!

**So there's porn…sorry Senpai! At least its not…to descriptive….I hope….**

**Waltz of Crimson Drops**

_For Luke, the Vegas Norge_

_**Ch. 3~Kiss of Blessing**_

Norway, despite the soar state of his body, immediately rushed to the prison, racing through the dark halls towards the object of his affections. The cell was not inhumane, but it wasn't the cushy room the countries were used to after their long reign as royalty, nor was the creature inside the product of such luxury.  
He fell to his knees, taking advantage of the lack of guards to cry. "Oh my precious Denmark…" he whispered despondently. The creature looked up at its name and rushed to the bars, growling and scrabbling to get at the other.  
So long he'd been trapped in this barren cell, dreaming of the day when he would wrap his large hands around a pale neck, and now that pale neck was before him. Norway jumped back a little in surprise, and then all his guilt washed over him and he leaned forward, grasping the slimy hand in both of his.  
"Denmark…" it was soft and gentle, a pleading tone, "I am so sorry…this is all my fault." The creature paused in his snarling and tipped its head in curiosity at the crying creature before it. He pressed his face to the bars to look at him as his other hand reached through to pull away a tear, as if it was foreign to him.  
Overcome with regret and passion for this man before him, and him alone, Norway leaned forward and kissed the blood-stained lips, heedless of any resignation simply for the feel of his touch.  
The thing froze, surprise at the action before the human was slowly pulled out of his shell and soft tears slipped down his face as he kissed back, the love he held for this also crying man overcoming all he had become.  
When the kiss was broken, he stroked the pale face before him. "Norge…" he whispered. "Norge I love you…I love you so much but I…" he was trembling. "I'm a monster now…" he closed his eyes tightly. "You should leave…leave me…I am no longer deserving of you."  
The Norseman shook his head, and clung to him all the more. "No…no I won't! I'll never leave you again Denmark…never! I shouldn't have ever left you to begin with…I…I just thought I was protecting you, but I was wrong. I made a monster of you." He pressed their clasped hands to his forehead. "This is all my fault…I hope you can forgive me."  
Two hands moved to curl around his cheeks and pull his face up. "Lukas…this is not your fault. I was the one who pushed everyone away. I drove myself to the brink of insanity and beyond. I love you. Norge…Jeg elsker dig…" the smaller melted at the use of his name and the care bestowed upon him with such sweet words.  
"Mathias…" he murmured as he began to cry again. "You look terrible…I…I need to get you out…" he reached up to grasp at the lock but the Dane stopped him. "No I…I might hurt you if you let me free."  
But Norway ignored him, choosing instead to release the blood-soaked form and pull him up into his arms. "You are coming with me…" he said softly. "And I am going to nurse you back to health…" His voice was gentle, but the look in his eyes warned against any argument.  
And so they returned to Sweden, trying to cover the blood and rot coating Denmark like a second skin with a cloak, and the darkness (for it was now very late). They didn't arrive back at the large house until two sunrises later, and Denmark had grown murderous in such confined spaces.  
Yet even still, Norway remained by him, helping to calm his rage and soothe his pain, and loving him to his hearts content. All his passion and emotion 'caused any rage in such a big heart to fade away.  
But the sorrow still remained, and no matter how much Norway cared for him, in his heart it stayed. Nonetheless he continued his difficult task to care for the sick-minded man whom he remained faithful to despite all attempts on his life.  
The house was quiet and only the lights in the servant's quarters and domains remained with a pale glow softly flitting across the silent court yard. Denmark was thin and his skin seemed much to loose as the smaller male carried the sleeping man into a place neither had ever wanted to live.  
It wasn't that they hated Sweden, but it had always really been the two of them while Sweden did his own thing. Living with this bold man and the timid Finland seemed odd and unnatural. Both he and Denmark knew what it was like to be a leader, and though they both had changed, deep down they were still drunk on the feeling of power.  
But Norway could not go home, and neither could he leave Denmark all alone in a cell, left to the despair inside, and so he returned to the safety of a home he would never be fond of. Denmark made a little groaning sound as he shifted in Norway's slim but strong arms to snuggle his bloody face against his chest. Norway ignored this, allowing a rare smile to flit briefly across his face.  
In truth he was glad that Finland, Sweden, and Iceland had already retired, since the sight of such a pitiful and gored Denmark would surely not meet an approving crowd. No, it was for the best that he crept through the halls like a quiet mouse and into the safety of his own room, far away from the rest. Here his first task was to wake and bathe the Dane.  
The first task was not easy since his lover slept like a small child who'd played all day. This time, however, he slept like one dead, and Norway got the feeling this man hadn't slept for a very long time. As they'd rode there'd been this haunted look in the mans eyes, as if fear of sleep plagued him, and had ever since Norway had left, which was most likely the case.  
The nation was a sentimental fool, and often dramatic, which was both annoying and endearing. Yet a darker side remained of his devotion to those he cared for. A broken heart for this man was to have his whole heart ripped out, and how can one sleep, when they feel as if they are missing the very source of all they are?  
He sighed, gripping the hand of the sleeping man, blinking back hot tears that threatened to spill. His love had been fine when the other two left, a tad pessimistic, but still himself, and Norway realized it was because he had remained. When he and Iceland left, Denmark had truly lost all he loved most dearly. The man he loved, and the child he thought of as his own.  
The bloody thing stirred, teary blue eyes opening to take in the soft face and pale hair of his one true love. "Norway…" he gripped the hand tighter and smiled a little "You're…still here, I'm so glad." He buried his face into his stomach, his head now resting on a perfect lap. "I had a nightmare that you left again, leaving me in that cold carriage to continue an endless journey."  
Norway patted his head and shifted, gently pulling him up. "Danmark…" he whispered quietly, smiling softly. "I am not going to leave your side…in fact I am going to take you into my care…" he smiled softly and led him into the bathroom. "Until you are well enough to take me back."  
His love stood quietly as he gently removed the clothes adhered to his body with dried red death, the hint of hope glinting in his eyes. Norway bit his lip, seeing Denmark naked for the first time in a long time, and yet his skin was still a colour that didn't suite him at all.  
The water in the bath was still hot, suggesting the servants had run it when they'd seen the carriage coming down the road through the trees. He led the other toward it, but Denmark refused to get in until Norway was already there.  
He leaned forward, his body fitting between Norway's shapely legs as the man gently set about scrubbing away all signs of his insanity, and leaving his skinny body bare to the eye. "Denmark…" Norway said lowly, "How long have you gone without food…?" He looked anywhere but at his lover.  
"A month…maybe two." Was the timid reply, and Norway growled, pulling the man against his chest, the bathwater sloshing around. "You idiot Dane! This isn't good for your body; you'll send yourself into midpoint!" The man looked down in shame.  
** (Quick A/N: Midpoint {or 'Limbo'} is the state between life and death. I use this term to describe the temporary death-like state a nation might go through were they to kill themselves or get shot or stabbed with something that would be fatal to most. They always come back from this. For on 'how to kill a nation' watch episode 4 of **_**Hetalia the Nordics**_**)  
**"I already have been in midpoint…many times." He sighed as he felt slender hands wrap tightly around his arms. "You what?!" He shook his head, the shaggy locks clinging to his face, and finally staying down for once because it was wet. "I wanted to die Norway. I thought you left me for Sweden. So I attempted suicide, again and again."  
A hand hit his face, leaving a dark red mark on his cheek and he whined. "Don't you dare do that! Never again!" Norway yelled, losing all composure. Denmark pulled away, curling up at the other end of the tub, staring fearfully at Norway who was red with rage.  
"How _could _you? How _dare_ you simply throw your life away so recklessly! Did you ever think for one fucking moment that maybe, just _maybe_ the only reason I left was to protect you?!" he took a deep breath and broke out crying, burying his head in his hands. "I love you Denmark…so much I was willing to give you up to save your life."  
Denmark reached out to gently touch his lover, petting him softly. "Sweden was going to kill you if I didn't go with him so I…I couldn't let him do that to you…" he tipped his head back to look up at the man gently stroking his wet hair. "I love you to Norway…" the man said softly as he leaned down to capture his lips in a sweet kiss that soon turned hot and needy.  
It had been much to long since the two had touched each other, and right then they both needed a way to forget all the pain. Norway wrapped himself around the Dane like a blanket as his lover kissed him with such passion he thought he'd find release simply through this wild, hot, fervor.  
Even so, Denmark broke away to pull Norway out of the tub, and began to quickly dry himself. Norway would have sworn the heat from their bodies would have  
dissipated all the small droplets if it weren't for his understanding of nature. Still, as soon as the towels hit the ground they were on each other again, lips dancing together desperately as their hips swayed in a slow, needy, waltz to the bed.

Norway buckled onto the sheets, Denmark falling on top of him, and they took the separation as a chance to stare into the others eyes. Denmark's sparkled with an awakened heat that made Norway's heart flutter. There was so much emotion in his face and his eyes, a face only Denmark had ever seen.  
Slowly lips moved toward each other, drawn by the gravity of love pouring from blue eyes. A kiss so sweet, so gentle, so loving, and so deep was shared, as if the two were re-learning how to move together. Denmark gently shifted Norway so they were now both completely on the bed.  
The kiss broke so they could stare at each other once more before Denmark moved in again, devouring the smaller mans mouth, his desires no longer restrained, and a hand slowly slid up and down his leg, stroking and teasing the smooth skin.  
Norway moaned softly into his lover's mouth, his sensitive body shuddering under such sensuous touches. The Dane moved the kisses to his neck and he let out soft gasps as his neck was devoured. "Ah, Danmark, røre meg mer! _**{Ah, Denmark, touch me more}**_" he gasped in his native tongue.  
The taller nation smirked, running his hand along his leg again to kneed into the deprived flesh of one of the cheeks and he gasped. "Som du ønsker, Norge ~ _**{As you wish, Norway}**_" he purred into his ear before his tongue teased behind it. Norway pressed himself into the others touch, tilting his head to give his love better access.  
His body was on fire and his nails dug into the Danes back, his legs slipping aside as he stretched into each and every loving touch. Passion coursed in sizzling waves as long-separated bodies danced together once again, reveling in the renewal of their connection.  
It was so intense, so wonderful, that Norway barely registered the fact that a sinful tongue had bent down to slide up his aching member. His body arched, his hips moving upwards with a high-pitched mewl.  
So long he'd been without the touch of another and the inability to touch himself in Sweden's house, that it drove him insane. Now he was receiving this touch and he wanted more of it. "Ah, y-yes, oh please…" he cried out in English with his desperation, just needing to convey exactly what he wanted.  
A low chuckle emitted from the mass of muscle, wild hair, and feral blue eyes as that loud mouth slowly slid down the ache that demanded to be appeased. All groans were released freely into the air as long-desired cravings were fulfilled. Fingers buried themselves in freshly cleaned hair that shone like sunlight even in the dark room.  
The feelings were fervent, but both knew this force paled in compare to what they'd soon feel. Few bonds were as deep as the one they were about to share, and even fewer of these unions were made in such truth as theirs. Each bob of Denmark's head left Norway breathless, as if each were an avowal of love.  
It felt amazing to be worshiped so wholly, and yet know that it wasn't even the half of the love beating deep within such a large heart. He was so cold and small, barely worth loving, and yet he had attracted the desires of such a creature whom was both tender and beastly.  
A hand roamed down to stroke around a dejected entrance that had long awaited his touch. Norway gasped as the sensations of being touched in two of his most carefully guarded treasures overwhelmed him. Oh he wanted it; he wanted it all, and more.  
This inferno of obsession filled his chest with such a flaming that he swore he'd fall siege to its destruction one day, but for now it simply raged inside, shimmering just underneath his skin with each frenzied touch. All too soon his lover pulled away, leaving his weeping desire exposed to the scrutiny of frigid air.  
An undignified whimper slipped past kiss-swollen lips as hands searched for a lover who had briefly vanished from his searching. Yet ever eager Denmark did not make him wait long as he returned with what appeared to be a sort of lotion, but Norway didn't care. He just wanted to be joined with his lover as one flesh, no matter how he did it.  
Arms and legs tangled as two lips joined in a sweltering kiss as slowly a finger, now coated in lotion, slowly slid into Norway. It had been to long since they'd last even looked at each other, so that a soft whine slid from one mouth to another.  
Denmark tasted the whimper in his gentle mouth and he moved to nuzzle his neck and kiss behind his ear as apology. A small huff was his forgiveness as he continued to gently prepare this beauty for the tie. Norway was slowly re-adjusting to the slightly foreign feeling, and now he wanted more, so he did what he could, and moved so that finger slid in according to his will.  
A smirk was the reply, and then a second finger. Pain and pleasure blurred in an odd swirling motion as Norway desperately tried to adjust himself. Once it had felt good, but now it sort of hurt. Once he could take his lover without this tedious warm-up, but now he wasn't sure he could even take another finger.  
But Denmark was a gentle, if not earnest, lover, and he proved it in the soft strokes of his fingers, an attentive ear gauging the pitch of each bellyache or moan before the third finger slid in. Norway hissed, but he bore it all with grace, knowing that this soft-eyed lusty man would not hurt him if he could refrain from doing so.  
Besides, this had happened enough that he knew all the pain was well worth it, and soon he would wonder why he'd ever wished it to stop. Even so, it still didn't feel quite as good as he'd like, and he expressed himself through nonsensical noises to the man above him, hoping he'd find a way to make it all better.  
Indeed he did, hooking his fingers, and wiggling them in as much as he could to tease the one spot, other than his curl, that could completely undo him. Then a hand tugged on that floating curl, and he cried in desperation, all the pleasure overpowering his senses till he only desired one thing: Denmark inside him.  
"Danmark, kan ikke jeg ... jeg vil ha det ... gi den til meg nå,...vennligst? _**{Denmark, I can't I…I want it…give it to me now…please?}**_" he begged, spreading his legs even more in obvious invitation, 'causing the man above to smirk and withdraw. "Som du befaler, min kærlighed. _**{As you wish, my love.}**_" purred the response. He gasped in both hurt and bliss, the peculiar blend sending his mind into flighty abandon.  
All control over coherent speech was lost to the sensation of being impossibly stretched and filled, coupled by the soft tugging of his curl, driving him to the brink of animalistic lust. But this was not the heated moment of two beasts intertwined, but of the union ascertained between lovers whom cherished deeply this moment of binding.  
Kisses feathered across his neck and face as the man above showered him with the blessing of his patience and doting. Norway's body trembled in both keenness and throbbing as all of his being tried to relax to accommodate this large obtrusion inside. He both loved and hated the girth of his lover; hated it for 'causing him this suffering, but loved it for filling him so completely.  
Fingers tangled together by his head as this epithet of ardor pulled his lips to his again, leaving him breathless in a dance of tongues. His hips moved upward, begging silently for this girth inside to move. There was still hurting, but not enough to deter him anymore, he needed this almost more than air now, and their greedy mouths were only driving him further over the edge.  
Slowly, painfully slowly, he was appeased as the member slid in and out his begging entrance. Ah yes, this is what he'd longed for on those long lonely nights where the wind howled and the sheets barely kept out the chill. Hushed and low did he moan, rolling his hips testily on that wonderful pressure rocking into him.  
"A-aaah…så strom Norge…_** {ah, so tight Norway.}**_" He gasped, sheathed inside the one man he'd held dearest for so long. The desperate plea of a soft whine was his only response as battle-worn hand softly gripped his hips, allowing the Dane to plunge at a slightly more rapid pace.  
Norway's back arched and his head tossed to and fro, his legs now curved around broad shoulders, his lover plunging so deep he brushed _that_ spot, blurring his vision and making him cry out so that he was sure he'd woken the others.  
Fire and explosions coursed through him so oft he scarce knew what to do with the rest of his body. His back writhed upward, always upward, his head falling back, or left, or right, his hands wildly gripping the sheets, or the pillows, or Denmark's strong arms.  
It was wild and ardent, and neither had any assurance of lasting longer than they already had. As the pace increased and heat began to pool in their bellies, Norway curled forward, reaching this man who was pleasing him so to shabbily kiss him in forewarning of the imminent fireworks.  
He fell back with a cry as suddenly he was pushed into with such force, coupled with the tug of his curl, and his vision of the now eddied into only feelings. As they cried out, releasing all the pent up pleasure, the connection they felt made stars swirl inside them both. It was as if the whole universe had stopped around this single moment, honoring the pure promise of love they had made to each other.  
Norway was up so high he never wanted to come down. He wanted to stay in this moment of pure bliss forever; reaching for the stars with the man he loved most, and ignore the pains and duties he had as a country. But it had to end, and as he fell back onto the bed panting. He gripped his lovers hand tightly, as if to assure himself it would be better now, as long as Denmark was there with him.

The other smiled a little, almost happy, before he let out a shaky sob, pulling away from his lover, only to grab him as if he were a life line and sob earnestly into his bare chest. Still muddled by pleasure and the intensity of it all, Norway lay there, unsure what to do, until instinctively his arms wrapped around the larger mans shaking shoulders to gently stroke his hair.  
"Shhhh…" he whispered into his ear. "It's going to be ok Mathias…" he said softly, using his lover's human name to try and ease all his suffering. "I'm here my love...you're safe, and nothing is going to part us again."

Yet the sobs continued, and Norway could do nothing but hold him and softly sing until he fell asleep. Only then did he cover them with the sheets and blankets, cuddling with the man he'd missed most. He wished he could ease the pain in this mans heart, but he knew he could do little since he was the one who had 'caused all this despair.

Denmark was broken, and it was Norway's fault…

**A/N: ok yay, finally done! And its…7 pages long…um…wow ok, lots of writing! And I'm really bad at porn, so it's...all feelings because…that's kind of the…way I write this stuff so…hopefully it's not to bad! Anyway, I'm just glad it's done! So yeah…-flips hands up-**  
Reviews…?


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